Anthelme returned to his den with his spines rattling against his back. He couldn't believe he had just done that. Of course, as awesome and bold as he could be in the right conditions, leaving such an offering behind for someone like
her was something he had -- until that point -- been a little too nervous to attempt. Only a little, of course. Yeah. All of this shaking was merely the precipitate of his mighty Ridgeback dignity.
But it would seem not even that was enough to inform his mother that he had returned home.
"I'm back," he called out. His mother, who was a Ridgeback like him, had her neck craned over a pile of glimmering earrings. It looked like she was counting them again.
"Hmm," she puffed.
Anthelme watched as a sixteenth, and then a seventeenth earring were placed in her paws. True to the name of his species, he forced his back to stay rigid now, ceasing the rattling of his spines as he maintained a firm posture. "I have my agent placement exam tomorrow, so I'm going to bed early."
"Hmm."
"I hope I do a good job," he added as he passed her.
"Hmm."
"If I pass, I'll get a buxom Snapper tattoo."
"Hmm."
Great. Not even a lie like that could tug her away from her stupid collection. He couldn't fathom the point of it. It's not like Ridgebacks had big, magnificent ears.
He wasn't surprised, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
A long sigh escaped his mouth as he nudged his way through a small hallway to his own nest. Not even the polished pilco shells he decorated it with cheered him up or calmed his restless heart. Tomorrow was a huge day, one he'd been practicing for since he was small, and it was made even bigger with the question of whether she'd show up to the exam with his gift.
The timing is terrible, he griped inwardly, but it was too late now. Because even if it was terrible for getting the rest he required the night before his exam, it had been important to leave his offering as soon as possible.
She needed the cheer more than he needed to pass, anyway.
{*}
Where
was she?
All dragons of their age category had to perform in alphabetical order, and Anthelme's turn was fast approaching. Everyone else in his peer group was spellbound by the current presentation -- one of a Fire Pearlcatcher igniting the demonstration dummy in a column of purple flame -- and there he was, unable to spare more than a thought to it. As rude as it was, from his position in the near-back with the other adolescents of his breed, he kept looking over his shoulders towards the two great entryways into the Cavern of Display. Octavia was a full hour late now. Anthelme scraped the ground with his claws, biting his lips and hanging his head, his mind a torrent of anxiety.
Did she oversleep again? Was she ditching her exam? That just didn't seem like her. But maybe she was sick? She had seemed just fine yesterday, but what if Anthemle's Plague body finally transmitted pathogens to her? What if his offering had been coated with some vile contaminant? What if she was dying alone in her nest while he was stuck in a hall, watching dragons he didn't care about show off how cool they were before the Elder Whisperers?
Anthelme's eyes widened and he tore a few stones out of the ground, crumbling them in his paws. No. That couldn't be, could it? Plaguebringer help him, he had to go right away and--.
"Ah! Excuse me!"
The familiar voice was a tiny, breathless whisper amidst the crowd of adolescents as they applauded the next performer venturing towards the stage. But, even though it was barely audible, Anthelme's worries slipped away the second that sound graced his ears. He turned his head in its direction.
There she is....
With no one looking his way, he couldn't help but smile. Octavia had that effect on him. It was one he knew was undeserved and impossible to return, but it nonetheless brought him to his knees. Seeing her nudge through the crowd into the row with the other Mirrors brought him relief, but it was short-lived; witnessing the smile on her face made Anthelme's blood rush to his face, today more than ever.
Maybe, in a small way, I added to that smile.
It was a long shot, but Anthelme's hopeless heart couldn't help but wish.
From where he sat, he couldn't make out whether or not she was wearing the corsage. Anxiety made his spines rattle a little -- an annoyance to the Ridgebacks sitting around him -- but he gritted his teeth and stared intently at his paws. He would get his answer soon enough.
After all, he was next.
"Excellent work," chuckled the Elder Nocturne in his soft, raspy voice. The young Nocturne on the stage, who had just finished his own performance, watched him speak with curious purple eyes. "We have decided to place you into our stealth program."
The adolescents broke out into applause once more. Anthelme stood up slowly, slinging his pouch over his shoulder. He would be needing it in a minute. As the Nocturne profusely thanked the Elder of his breed and flitted back to his spot, Anthelme worked his way towards the stage.
"Our next display," came the hoarse voice of the Elder Ridgeback, "shall be by Anthelme."
Polite applause sounded as he leapt onto the stage, a new demonstration dummy taking the place of the tattered one. All traces of a smile were off of Anthelme's face. Every atom of his body wanted him to glance over his shoulder towards Octavia, but he stubbornly refused, his back becoming rigid from effort. Restraint was necessary. If he looked, he would surely fail.
After all, turning his focus to her made the world blur around them until they were the only two left.
He scowled, puffing out his chest determinedly. "Permission to summon two more dummies to the stage, Esteemed Elder Ridgeback?"
The Elder Ridgeback's brows raised. Whispers coursed through the audience; asking for multiple targets meant that one's performance was required to subdue or damage all three in a short span of time. To minimize the chances of failure, most adolescents refused to tackle more than one. "Granted," the Elder Ridgeback puffed, and for a brief moment Anthelme wondered if this was a mistake. But he steeled himself. He was here to show them exactly how good of an asset he -- Anthelme -- could be. How he had the potential to be invaluable or irreplaceable, if someone gave him a chance.
Deep down, he doubted this would work. Seeing the dummies emerge, raised from under the stage by the Whisperers whose job it was to procure them, made him gulp. But he shoved all thoughts of self-deprecation into the abyss of his unconscious. If he succeeded, he would prove to the others that he had worth; and if he failed, then it would merely restate what he already knew to be true.
It was kind of a win-win, in a pessimistic way.
From his pouch he withdrew his weapons -- a set of serrated and sharpened Pilco shells, coated in a special toxin he created from scratch. The Elders wrote notes on their scriptures, and his peers began to whisper rapidly to one another, surprised by this development. Sure, adolescents were allowed to bring tools to their demonstration if they wanted, but few took such an opportunity. Many preferred using their magic or their brawn.
But Anthelme always had a penchant for throwing sharp objects.
With lightning speed, he took three darts at once and assumed a stance, tossing them one by one in rapid succession at the dummies. All three made their marks: the dummy in the front was nailed in the neck, and the ones in the back were pierced through their hearts. The crowd cheered as the toxin began to burn and corrode the dummies' wood, melting them as if it were a potent acid. As the dummies in the back toppled over, their center of balance compromised by the holes created by the blades, the head of the dummy in front toppled off.
From there, Anthelme set a few blades between his claws. He howled, lunging forward towards the dummy immediately in front of him and tore through it with his blades. Large chunks of the wood burned and smoked beneath their toxic touch, destroying the dummy with minimal effort. Even with said dummies scaled to match a dragon of the demonstrator's size -- which, for Anthelme, was quite substantial -- his comparatively minimal effort yielded substantial and devastating results.
The crowd roared with applause.
He panted. Discomfort surged through him. At that moment, he became acutely aware of just how many eyes were on him, and how many people were in the Cavern of Display. He looked over his shoulder. The Elders were applauding as well, but his attention was focused on one dragoness in particular.
Octavia's wrist was wrapped in his corsage. For an instant, that made his heart swell with joy. But her face....
She looked appalled.
Anthelme's heart sunk to his paws.
"Well," the Elder Ridgeback hummed, smiling wryly, "I think we have a definite candidate for our sniper program, wouldn't you all say?"
The other elders nodded in agreement. Anthelme turned his attention back to them, but his eyes were hollow and his spine was rigid. His emotions -- consuming and desolate -- were locked behind a cold poker face. He bowed his head politely.
"Thank you very much," he murmured.
With that, he hopped offstage and slunk towards the back, blinking tears out of the corners of his eyes. The old mantra was back and louder than ever.
Of course she'll never approve of you. No one who matters does. Not now. Not ever.
{*}
The next two dozen performances were a blur. Anthelme couldn't muster up a single damn for any of them in the off-chance he looked, and most of the time he didn't even do that. His eyes were firmly focused on his wrist, imagining it were Octavia's with his corsage around it. That she appreciated his anonymous gift enough to deign wearing it was the only solace he could find. Perhaps this morning it had even made her happy.
But every time warm thoughts came to him, they were immediately interrupted by the memory of her horrified expression. He had disgusted her. This was no new revelation to Anthelme -- he was aware he had this effect on her for ages -- but it hurt more today than it ever had before.
That she would be so mortified by what he hoped for all life to do for the Whisperers; that she would be so terrified of what he was passionate about....
It was all still sinking in.
"...Our next display shall be by Octavia."
The dull throbbing of his heart was drowned out by the invocation of her name. He looked up as she leapt to the stage, bowing politely before the Elder Mirror before turning to face the dummy. Anthelme had an idea of what was coming.
And, sure enough, Octavia began to sing.
Her voice, like honey on his senses, made his spines tremble. Though his pain was intense, he still couldn't resist lifting his spellbound gaze to her. Vines were curling from the ground, just as Anthelme had anticipated; this was a spell she had been working on for a long while, and he watched as they curled around the Mirror-sized dummy before her.
What he didn't expect, however, was her voice becoming low and harsh. The magic of the vines, formerly a warm emerald green, became a dark swampy color as they ensnared the dummy with thorns. The crowd whispered quietly amongst themselves as the elders took their notes, but Anthelme's heart stopped when Octavia lifted her open paw before clenching it into a fist.
The vines yanked in opposite directions, tearing the dummy in half, splintering it along its seams and filling the air with the smell of wood chips.
Everyone cheered for her, applauding such a devastating and beautiful performance -- but Anthelme remained silent. The stubborn ache in his chest sharpened into something much darker than he liked. Such hypocrisy wounded him. How could she have appeared so disapproving over his brutal demonstration when hers was arguably just as terrifying? His admiration of her, though not dampened in any permanent way, was momentarily poisoned by his own, virulent rage.
"Boo!" Anthelme crowed, louder than everyone else.
The Elder Mirror, who had been preparing to assign Octavia to a program that would suit her abilities, grunted and glowered in his direction. The entire crowd turned towards Anthelme, murmuring to one another with expressions of disgust. He didn't care. His eyes were on Octavia, who was staring -- mortified -- back at him.
"You call that a performance?" Anthelme heckled. His rational brain was pleading for him to shut up, but reason was overwhelmed by his hurricane of feelings. "You think a real dragon wouldn't just evade those? Pathetic!"
Octavia's crests flattened and she grimaced, taken aback and sending a pained look to the elders. The crowd was filled with chatter now. A flap of mighty wings was heard, and the Elder Skydancer emerged from the crowd of elders, his eyes narrowed in a way that suggested no tolerance for nonsense.
"That is quite enough!" he boomed. "Octavia, Anthelme -- you're coming with me."
Anthelme panted, his red eyes glowing and flitting between the Elder Skydancer and Octavia. Beneath the glare of the elder and the hurt on Octavia's face, guilt gushed forth past the pain. Tears welled in Anthelme's eyes, but he stubbornly wiped them away, standing up and keeping his head bowed.
He only wished he had dignity, but he figured he should at least pretend to preserve it.
{*}
The Elder Skydancer commanded silence as he guided them to his chambers. Anthelme refused to look at Octavia with anything but small glances. His first allowed their eyes to meet, and he saw that Octavia's expression was sorrowful; however, she averted her gaze a second later. Anthelme's heart plummeted from his paws into the ground. He hoped in vain that, maybe, the land itself would swallow him up and that would be that, and he'd never bother anyone ever again.
All the negative thoughts he had nudged into his unconscious were back with a vengeance.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
It's no wonder your mother doesn't love you.
The dragons who applauded you were all faking.
You're not worthy of others' care.
Decompose yourself.
Anthelme wondered if he'd grow numb one day to thoughts like these. If they had just as much power now as they did when he was small, though, he didn't see how they could. He'd just hurt and hurt and hurt, and that was his lot in life. To be a waste of breath, brooding over the futility of pursuits of happiness.
The thought that this could be his destiny terrified him.
His internal detractors were so loud, the world outside was smeared with tears. Anthelme hardly noticed how they arrived, and didn't make out the quiet words of the Elder Skydancer to Octavia. However, the exchange was brief, and the world made a gentle -- if firm -- return when he felt the Elder Skydancer's paw on his shoulder.
"Anthelme," he murmured, his voice soft and his brows furrowed, "are you okay?"
No, I'm not.
Anthelme sniffled, pulling his shoulder away weakly. "I'm fine," he huffed, resenting how his voice cracked.
The Elder Skydancer looked unconvinced. Octavia peered from behind the Elder's wings and her breath hitched, her eyes widening. "You're crying," she blurted.
"Shut the hell up," Anthelme snapped, covering his eyes. "Don't look at me."
"I see," the Elder Skydancer murmured, keeping his voice low. Anthelme could still hear it. "It's as I thought, then." At that, the Ridgeback could tell that his words were directed to Octavia. "His outburst at you was the precipitate of a storm of internal negativity."
"Anthelme...."
The way she said his name -- all quiet and adorable and concerned and sweet -- made his heart throb. He peered through his claws to see Octavia reaching a paw towards him, but he drew back abruptly. She couldn't touch him. He wasn't clean. He wasn't worthy.
Not that his mouth was in any hurry to express this.
"N-no, I'm mad at you, Octavia!" Anthelme snarled. "You were
so eager to look down on my work when yours was just as deadly, huh? Is all of this your bias against me? Is it?"
Octavia looked slapped. "What? No!"
"You looked disgusted. You hated it! Plaguebringer damn it!"
"That's not it at all!" Octavia cried, shaking her head.
She tried to move forward, but the Elder Skydancer held her back. "Allow me."
Anthelme saw her give the Elder a resentful look, though he didn't know quite what to make of it.
The Elder Skydancer reached forward. Anthelme tried to draw back once more, but he bumped into the wall behind him. Before he could pull away, the Elder Skydancer placed a paw on his forehead. A strange magic coursed through Anthelme. He gained a sudden awareness to the earth beneath his paws, how soft and cool and soothing it felt with the cadence of the crystals in the cave. The smell of damp rocks eased his lungs, prompting Anthelme to let out a shaky breath.
When the Elder Skydancer spoke again, his voice had an echoey quality.
"I see how you feel," he murmured. "And I recognize how hard that is. Years ago, I was in a very similar state of mind. I will not express these sentiments aloud, but know that there are other ways to share your feelings with those you care about. You will get a chance to prove yourself. But it should not just be intended for the eyes of others, Anthelme. It should be, first and foremost, for yourself."
Anthelme saw an image in his mind's eye: one of himself smiling and laughing with Octavia by his side, joking like old friends and sharing a bite of fish. He was calm and she was radiant and everything seemed right with the world. Maybe they were still living underground beneath a ragged city of rogues and cutthroats, but they found happiness with each other.
It was a scene that lasted only a few seconds, but it felt so real.
Then, when the Elder Skydancer removed his paw, things melted back to reality.
Anthelme couldn't speak; he was stunned by the foreign positivity that had lifted him up, even if it was only temporary. Octavia was sitting on her haunches, a paw to her chin, her expression thoughtful and melancholy. Her eyes trailed to Anthelme's and his face turned an immediate red. He looked aside. After his abysmal behavior, he couldn't think of a good way to approach this situation.
Fortunately, the Elder Skydancer broke the silence.
"I believe the Elder Mirror has decided to enroll you in our incantation program, Octavia. However, both of you must study diligently. I have a mission in mind involving you two and some of our experienced agents, and it will be coming sooner than you think. Work hard on your skills and passions, but work harder on your ability to empathize with one another. It will come in handy more than you might think." He offered them both a soft smile. "You are dismissed."
Anthelme bowed his head and stood up, trudging towards the exit. The pitter-patter of Octavia's smaller paws sounded beside him as she matched his pace. Neither of them looked at the other for a long while, but once they were out of the Elder Skydancer's earshot, Octavia spoke.
"For the record, I thought you did a great job up there."
Did you really? chimed the sarcastic, skeptical voice in Anthelme's head. He was tempted to say it aloud, but for once, he couldn't will himself to do it.
"I'm not going to lie," Octavia continued, "it was really scary, but it was scary in a good way. Does that make sense? I mean, if that stuff you dipped your darts into has the same effect on dragon scales as it does on wood, then you could take out some really tough members of the Black Satin Alliance just like that." She gave him a tentative, sincere smile. "That's incredible."
Anthelme's face heated all the way down to his neck. As she spoke, butterflies fluttered in his stomach and he took steady breaths to ease his thumping heart. Even after everything, somehow, Octavia made his worst days so much better.
She liked my performance. The thought would've made him giddy, if he had less pride in how he composed himself. It would have made his tail wag and his spines chime together, and it could have made him whoop and prance all the way home. But no; with Octavia right there, that was just too undignifying.
"W-whatever," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck with his wing. "Thanks, I guess." The words took effort. They had such a foreign taste on his tongue, but that wasn't to say he didn't like speaking them.
Octavia quirked a brow, but kept smiling. "You're welcome, I guess." Her tone was slightly teasing, and Anthelme's normal reaction would have been that of strong and immediate objection. As it was, in his more vulnerable state of mind, it made him dizzy.
"Yeah, I guess," he parroted, unable to take his eyes off her.
So cute.
"I guess," she giggled, reinforcing his internal judgment.
They arrived at a crossroads.
"Well," she hummed, "I'm taking a left. See you around, Anthelme."
Octavia turned to move away, and Anthelme's heart leapt hard in his chest. He didn't want her to go -- this was nothing new -- but he knew that today couldn't end like this between them. "Wait!"
She paused. As Octavia looked over her shoulder, Anthelme's mind blanked.
Crap, what did I want to say? He curled his forepaws into fists and took a deep breath. After a small pause, he remembered. He had to do the right thing.
"Sorry for booing," Anthelme muttered, staring at an interesting speck on the floor. "You did good. Best, even. Just don't get used to compliments or anything from me, got it?"
Octavia's crests perked and her green eyes glittered. Anthelme's stomach flopped as she smiled at him, big and broad and beautiful, in the way he had only seen in dreams and illusions. It was just as entrancing in real life as he imagined it would be, and it was meant just for him.
"I understand, and I forgive you." She winked at him and Anthelme could have sworn he was having a heart attack. "Talk to you later!"
Anthelme was stupefied. He backed into the wall a little, sensing his face was redder than a pile of rubies and hotter than the Flamecaller's breath. "W-whatever," he managed to stammer again. He couldn't take any more of that smile.
With his tail between his legs, Anthelme turned and ran. "Bye!" he called over his shoulder.
If he was going to die from cuteness, he would sooner do it on the soft and private surface of his own bed, thank you very much.
{*}
A/N: I hope this longer chapter in Anthelme's point of view (and the general continuation of the plot) was worth the ridiculous wait. ^^; Thank you all for being so patient with me. Real life essentially turned me into its plaything the past few weeks -- partly for things I mentioned in my last update, and partly for things I won't go into because they're tl;dr and could unnerve those who also have anxiety -- but I sincerely hope that stuff will start looking up for me soon. :D
Anthelme and Rhea are RTB, but I'll hold off on breeding them until I resolve
Le Mambo Mystère. Even though everyone gave me such sweet feedback on breeding them when they were ready, if I had done it when Anthelme's cooldown ended, their children would have been hatched and aged up by now. Unfortunately, I think such a sight in my lair would contribute to the inertia of writing. I don't want to halt this series just because I got too fearful of my ability to finish it and, by extension, too anxious to even try. My goal is to see this through, even if it takes some time. ^^ Besides, I like having Octavia and Anthelme in my lair, they use up only a little bit of my space, and I'm excited to breed them when their central arc is complete!
~
quilliper, I have changed your name in the pinglist above and will alter it on the main pinglist once this is posted. :D Thanks for informing me of your username change! It was no trouble at all!
And hey, no worries about sounding formal. ^^ I do the same thing a lot.
